Thursday, August 09, 2007

Hurdle me this, Evil Overlord.

Riddle me this, Batman. When is a chicken, not a chicken?

I was talking with my mum on the phone yesterday about how I'm fed right up to here {waves hand about a foot above head} with being a chicken. This is the third time this year that I've gotten below 220 lbs or 100 kgs. Each and every time I've scurried on back to the bigger side of the street. My coat? It's not dreamy, it's technicolour yellow.

As I was relating my frustration, Mum counted back the weeks that she'd been putting on weight. She thought it had only been three, but was in fact four. She's put on 700g over the last month. At first we thought it was a similar thing to what I am going through, but in this case, her number is 73 kgs. She got all the way down to 73.2kgs (161 lbs) her lowest weight in over twenty years and has now come back up closer to 74kgs. This time around, since she had the "That's IT!" moment that all the success stories seem to have, it's been very rare for her to put on more than two weeks in a row. Plenty of plateaus, yes, but not sustained gains over a full month. Something was afoot, but what?

All throughout her steady weight loss of 17kgs over the last two years, she had another woman at her weight loss group that always seemed to be a step ahead of her, and it was this woman that got all the compliments from the group. Mum was pretty much the invisible woman in amongst her circle of friends, as well as the whole support group. She'd complained a few times of being hurt by this lack of notice, but shrugged it off and kept plodding along her merry way.

Guess what's been happening the last 5-6 weeks or so? Every conversation we've had over that time she's told me of a new person, or even several people in the one week, who've noticed that she's lost weight. She's even getting comments on how much healthier and fitter looks since she started up water aerobics.

"A-HA!" I said. She's feeling embarrassed, and a little bit threatened by all that attention. It's okay to sit back and bitch about not receiving it, but when you're in that spotlight and receiving compliments left, right and centre, it's a little unnerving. Well, for the women in my family especially. It's like we took the tall poppy syndrome and distilled it before pumping it through our veins.

Now that we both have our secret hurdle out in the open, instead of merely wondering about it in the privacy of our own minds, it will be interesting to see if we make more progress. I don't know about my mum, but I'm sick of having some number on the scale or unexpected compliments, be the evil overlord of me.

Mine is a psychological and emotional attachment that I've placed on the value of 100 kgs; my mum's is compliments. What or Who is your evil overlord? And do you think it'll be more of a 100m/110m or 400m hurdles race to beat it?

BTW, a chicken is not a chicken, when it's a hurdler balking at a jump that's currently too high for their skill level...

2 Nibbles:

kathrynoh said...

It's funny how certain numbers can play on our minds, when you think that measures like kilos are really just arbitury (sp? my brain is dead this morning). The attention doesn't bother me but I do find that when I reach milestones I get complacent and think I can pig out.

Kada said...

Yeah they really are a load of bunkum them-there numbers. But they're all that was a measure of success for so long. Kinda hard to break the habit.